


U-trope-ia

by Lalalli



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: All The Tropes, Bets, Comedy, Dreams, F/M, Fake Relationship, Fake-Out Make-Out, Fake/Pretend Marriage, Fluff, Humor, NoChill!Jemma, Seduction, So many tropes, Soulmates, Tropes, there's only one bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2018-08-16 20:18:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8116045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalalli/pseuds/Lalalli
Summary: A collection of one-shots/drabbles, each with a tropey plot.  Chapter 10: Fate Drives Us Together - Fitz keeps meeting Jemma Simmons. They're all coincidences. Really. He swears he's not stalking her.





	1. Girl of My Dreams

Simmons is already there when Fitz stumbles into the dream-lab, immediately bending over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath. She pushes her safety glasses to the top of her head, pushing back the strands of chestnut hair falling out of her ponytail and surrounding her face. “You’re late,” she tells him, unable to hide her irritation.

Fitz rolls his eyes and straightens. “Well, you try getting here from Scotland,” he pants, out of breath. It’s a bit embarrassing - shouldn’t his dream-self be in better shape? “Besides, we both know time is relative here. There’s no such thing as late or on time.”

Simmons turns back to their lab bench and bends over the microscope. “Well, if I had known you were going to take so long, I would have stayed an extra ten minutes at the bistro with Peggy Carter. I ordered the prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella sandwich and I didn’t even get to eat it,” she complains.

Fitz joins her at the lab bench, standing next to her and picking up the half-assembled gun he was working on the night before. “Well, at least you got to spend some time with her,” he grumbles, fiddling with its components. “Mum invited the capuchins over for tea and I had to leave before Clyde even arrived.”

Simmons doesn’t respond, though he can practically hear her rolling her eyes. They fall silent as they work side-by-side on their respective parts of their project - they very rarely need words to communicate and collaborate. Every once in awhile, one of them would start rambling, working through their thoughts out loud, the other instinctively knowing whether to help the other finish their thoughts or let them follow their roaming sentences to their natural destination.

After about an hour of this, Fitz drops the gun onto the lab bench in frustration. “Simmons, I don’t think expanding the air chamber is -”

“Ugh, Fitz!” Simmons groans, exasperated, turning around and leaning against the lab bench, “I already told you, it’s _impossible_ to create instant paralysis with only -”

“-completely throws off the -”

“-being so stubborn - you haven’t even _tried_ -”

“-looked at the specs and-”

“- if anyone can do it, it’s you!”

Fitz’s mouth snaps shut. “You really think so?” He gazes at her as though he’s studying her, as though he’s trying to disassemble her in his mind, figure out the gears that make her tick.

Simmons removes her safety glasses and places them on the lab bench. She looks at him with earnest brown eyes. “Think about it, Fitz. I could be exploring the world. I could be having lunch with Peggy Carter. I could be literally anywhere else right now. Why do you think I’m here with you?”

Fitz bashfully rubs the back of his neck. He knows why _he’s_ there every night, but it seems too far-fetched - even for a dream - for her to reciprocate his feelings. “Because...science?” he guesses.

“Because of science _with you_ ,” she corrects him, and the fond look she gives him is enough for him to throw caution to the wind and step into her space to press his lips to her, placing one hand on her cheek and the other on her waist. He turns them so that she’s pressed up against the lab bench. Even though it feels real, with her soft lips and warm skin, it is, after all, a dream, right? If he can’t take chances here, when can he take them? And if it all goes pear-shaped, tomorrow can be a clean slate.

Except for that it’s never worked out that way in the past. Simmons has never forgotten any of their conversations. Just last week, she arrived at the lab already upset because of the way he had vanished in the middle of an argument the night before (as though he has any control over when he wakes up in the real world). She seems to have a life outside of the time they spend together here. They’ve always easily picked up where they left off. Which leaves the question - where will they leave off tonight? Because saying she’s here because of science with him is not the same as saying that she’s here solely because of him. She probably just wants to work on the Night Night Gun with him, and nothing else.

He pulls away suddenly at the realization that he’s an idiot. She’s staring up at him, wide-eyed. “Fitz...I…” she stammers, probably looking for the words to let him down easily.

He opens his mouth to apologize, to let her know that he didn’t mean it, that he doesn’t want to ruin the best friendship he’s ever had, that they can pretend it never happened, but to his horror, she vanishes into thin air.

He buries his face in his hands. Now he has to go through his whole day with everything unresolved and try to look for her after he goes to sleep tomorrow night. If he’s lucky, she’ll actually return to the lab. If not, he has a few ideas of where to look for her, but not all the planes of their respective dream worlds overlap - she could very easily avoid him.

Fitz briefly considers going back home to his mum’s to have tea with the monkeys - that always cheers him up - but he sticks around the lab in hopes that Simmons will fall asleep again and return to the lab.

She never does.

It feels like a lifetime before Fitz wakes up. This isn’t how he wants to start his first day at the Academy - sleepy and grumpy and slightly panicked. His first class is way too early in the morning - at 10:30, which might as well be sunrise - and he arrives with mismatched socks, unruly curls, and a thermos full of caffeinated tea. He finds a seat all the way in the back of the class and barely has the wherewithal to call out “here” when the professor calls for Leopold Fitz.

As soon as his voice rings across the lecture hall, a girl about his age in the front row whirls around in her seat and stares at him, wide-eyed. Fitz swallows heavily. She looks just like Simmons. It’s not until the professor calls out, “Jemma Simmons?” and she answers, “present,” in her familiar, albeit shaky, voice, that Fitz knows that it really is her.

As soon as the professor is finished taking roll, she turns back to the front and dutifully takes notes, even though the professor is only reviewing the syllabus. Fitz, however, doesn’t take his eyes off her for a moment.

Fitz is one of the first to leave the lecture hall once class is over, but he hovers near the door, waiting to see her up close in real life. Simmons, for her part, spots him as soon as she walks out, and cautiously approaches him. He’s feeling a bit hesitant as well - not just because of what occurred last night, but because he’s not even sure if this version of Simmons is the same that frequents his dreams.

“Leopold Fitz, right?” Simmons asks. He’s only ever seen her in a lab coat and ponytail, but here she’s wearing a blouse with a peter pan collar with skinny jeans and her hair falls softly over her shoulders and halfway down her back.

Fitz swallows, his throat dry, and nods. He licks his lips and tries to find his voice.

Before he can say anything though, Simmons tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and tells him, “I think we have a mutual friend.”

“Yeah?” Fitz manages to choke out.

Simmons nods slowly, studying his face. “His name is Clyde?”

Fitz can’t help but let out a small laugh. “Yes, Clyde. My best mate, he is.”

Simmons chances a small smile. “Lives in Scotland. Quite fond of tea.”

“Very hairy,” Fitz adds.

Simmons very visibly relaxes in relief, her posture softening and shoulders loosening. “I, um, was planning on going to the lab tonight to continue working on a project. A non-lethal weapon-”

“The Night Night Gun?” Fitz supplies.

Simmons rolls her eyes. “We’re not calling it that, but okay.”

“We can call it something else when you think of something better,” Fitz grins, letting himself fall into the familiar rhythm of their nightly bickering.

“Literally anything else would be better,” Simmons shoots back. She hikes her backpack higher on her shoulder. “Would you like to get lunch? There’s a great bistro around the corner.”

They spend an hour there, talking about everything from Simmons’ plan to create her own prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella sandwich (which she proclaims when she indignantly notes that it’s not on their menu after she’s ordered it a dozen times in her dreams), their respective class schedules, and Jemma’s new roommate (Fitz was lucky enough to get a single-person dorm room). And from then on, they’re inseparable.

It’s probably why they gain the reputation as the most productive and brilliant cadets in Academy history - the fact that they spend every second - both waking and asleep - with each other, creating and inventing and working, though it doesn’t feel like work when they’re together. Neither of them mention the kiss - they’re too grateful to have found each other, to have the opportunity to have two beginnings.

It doesn’t come up again until almost seven years later, in their lab at Sci Ops, when Simmons tries to convince Fitz to go into the field with her.

“I don’t know why you have to be so stubborn-”

“I’m perfectly happy here in the lab -”

“- it’s the most perfect opportunity-”

“Then go! Go and see the world! I don’t see what’s holding you back!”

Simmons glares at Fitz. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

Fitz rolls his eyes, “Just because I prefer safety to-”

“No! Because I already told you!” Simmons shouts, exasperated. “I _know_ I could go out and see the world. I could go anywhere! But why do you think I’m _here_ with _you_?”

Fitz blinks, overcome with dejavu. “Because...science?” he asks shakily.

“Because of you,” Simmons corrects him.

“You mean, because of science with me,” Fitz reminds her.

Simmons shakes her head and steps into his space, raising her hand to cup his cheek. “No, Fitz. Because of _you_.”

It’s both different and the same. This time, Simmons is the one to close the distance between them. But the softness of her lips, the warmth of her skin, the way she ends up pressed up against the lab bench, is all the same.

And when they part, smiling at each other, neither of them disappear.


	2. The Bet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (From tvtropes.org) "Some people will do just about anything for a bet, so wagers are a great excuse to have characters do just about anything. Just have someone bet them they won't. Regardless of how crazy the challenge, and how disproportionate (or nonexistent) the reward, they will go to any lengths to win. Maybe they want to show up their rival or make a point or maybe they just want to win the reward. Either way they're sure to have a whole lot of adventures trying to succeed, especially if their rival is trying to sabotage their efforts. And just maybe they'll end up learning that there are some things that are more important than winning the bet."

“I bet I can seduce Fitz,” Jemma announces suddenly. They’re at their fifth vineyard of the day and Jemma’s tried roughly 15 different kinds of merlot (because fuck _Sideways_ , merlot is _awesome_ ) and part of her feels bad because she knows Bobbi wanted her bachelorette party to be classy and it’s not a particularly classy thing to say, but she’s been thinking about this ever since the others had that conversation comparing seduction techniques at their third vineyard and she hadn’t been able to contribute a single thing.

The conversation at the table halts - not that the conversation had been that scintillating because they’re all pretty drunk at this point and the other women are just gushing variations of “I love you,” and “No, I love _you_ ,” and “You’re my best friend,” and “You’re so amazing? Like, how are you so amazing?”

Daisy exchanges a glance with Elena. “Oookay?”

Jemma swirls the wine in her glass. “I mean it. I mean, I know I’ve never seduced anyone before, but I bet I can seduce him.” She tilts the wine glass towards herself to smell the wine, but ends up hitting herself in the nose with the rim. She scrunches her nose and glares at the glass disapprovingly.

“I’m sure you can,” Bobbi assures her.

Jemma points at her with one of her fingers curled around her wine glass, unwittingly tipping her glass and spilling her wine in the process. “Don’t patronize me. How much do you want to bet? $50? $100?”

Daisy laughs. “No one wants to make that bet with you. We’d prefer to keep our money.”

“$200,” Jemma decides, nodding once emphatically. “We’ll bet $200 on it.”

Elena rolls her eyes. “None of us are taking you up on this bet, Jemma. If you want to seduce Fitz, just seduce him.”

“Just give me one week. That’s all I need. One week.” Jemma leans back in her chair and smiles smugly at them. In just one week, she’s going to be $200 richer.

\------------------------------------------------

Sunday ends up being a wash. Jemma wakes up with a pounding headache, grateful that Bobbi had the foresight to schedule their alcohol-soaked bachelorette day-trip for the week before her wedding instead of the day before. Jemma texts Fitz that she can’t make it to their weekly Sunday brunch - she is in no condition to start seducing him today. Unfortunately (or fortunately? Jemma can’t tell at this point), Fitz comes over to her flat with a grease-stained cardboard box filled with donuts and two massive paper cups filled with coffee.

“No better cure for a hangover than sugar and caffeine,” he boasts proudly.

Jemma’s initially horrified that he’s standing before her while she’s wearing rumpled pajamas and her hair is a tangled bird’s nest and she has pillow creases imprinted on her right cheek, but then she remembers that he’s seen her like this dozens of times before and that the only thing he likes more than an excuse to buy donuts is the opportunity to be the more adult one in their ~~relatio-~~ friendship. Their friendship.

So maybe while she won’t get Fitz to show any sexual or romantic interest in her today, she can at least get him used to her physical proximity by cuddling up to him on the couch while they watch 2Shark2Furious.

\--------------------------

Jemma decides it’s best to start simple. On Monday, Jemma finds any excuse to touch him at work: brushing away imaginary eyelashes on his cheek, fixing the collar of his lab coat, brushing her fingers against his whenever he passes her something in the lab. About half of the time, he glances at her and smiles in appreciation, but the rest of the time, he barely notices. Jemma wonders how he’d react if she accidentally-on-purpose touched his bum, but she’s been through the workplace sexual harassment training, and if asking whether the carpets match the drapes is off-limits, then groping her lab partner would definitely get her in trouble.

On Tuesday, Jemma decides to try drawing attention to her mouth. She knows for a fact that Fitz does not like lipstick, especially not when kissing someone (“It tastes gross!” he’d complained about his ex’s signature red lipstick) and bringing a lollipop or ice cream cone into work would break lab protocol, so she settles on licking her lips every time she knows he’s looking at her. When Fitz comes back from his lunch break, he sets down a new tube of Chapstick next to her computer keyboard. “Thought you could use this,” he explains. “Seems like your lips are really dry today.”

On Wednesday, she brings him his favorite prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella sandwich. They eat lunch together in the park, and she has full intentions of filling their conversation with sexual innuendo, but then they fall into their usual bickering about completely inane topics (this time, it’s about whether hiding biological specimens inside of Twinkies would allow them to survive a nuclear apocalypse) that Jemma completely forgets to tell him about the secret ingredient inside her pesto aioli (it’s love).

On Thursday, Jemma leaves her lab coat open over her tight pencil skirt and low-cut slightly sheer blouse (just slightly - she’s not a trollop). She’s gratified when Kate peeks her head in through their door and whistles in appreciation. “Who’s the lucky guy, Simmons?”

Fitz responds before she can, not even looking up from where he’s fiddling with gears at his lab bench. “Simmons dresses up for herself because it helps her to feel more confident and capable. Not everything has to be about a guy.”

Kate raises her eyebrows, surprised and impressed. “Feminist Fitz. Well done, Simmons.”

Jemma supposes it is her fault, as Fitz has clearly picked up those words from the numerous times she had gone into that rant in previous years. Still, Fitz frowns and grunts, “I was a feminist way before she came around, I’ll have you know.”

By the time Friday evening rolls around, Jemma’s willing to concede defeat. “Nothing!” she complains to the other girls, who are all gathered at Bobbi’s flat for a pre-wedding night of junk food and pampering. “I can’t believe I lost!”

“Technically, you can’t lose a nonexistent bet,” Daisy reminds her. “Though I won’t say no to $200, if you’re feeling generous.”

“Here’s a crazy idea - maybe you should _talk_ to him,” Bobbi suggests.

Jemma wrinkles her nose. “I talk to him all the time. You’d be hard-pressed to find a time of day when we’re not talking.” She holds up her phone. “We’re having a text conversation right now as we speak.” Her eyes light up, reflecting the metaphorical light bulb that has turned on in her brain. “I should sext him!”

The other three women lunge towards her phone at the same time. “NOOOOO!!!!”

\-------------------

“Jemma, wait!”

Jemma continues to storm away from the wedding reception, though the effect is somewhat mitigated by the fact that her heels kept sinking into the lawn with every step she took. She pauses to take of her heels, but her short delay allows Fitz to catch up with her. He grabs her arm, keeping her in place as he overtakes her and turns to face her, grabbing her other arm with his free hand.

“What’s wrong?” Fitz asks frantically.

Jemma supposes she can understand his confusion. They were having a perfectly lovely time, swaying in each other’s arms under the twinkle lights strung above the dance floor in the very spacious lawn of the estate where Hunter and Bobbi were holding their wedding reception. And they were smiling and talking and looking into each other’s eyes, but then - and Jemma swears this wasn’t entirely in her head - there was a _moment_. A moment where something shifted, and his eyes took on a soft and tender expression, and Jemma tilted her head just so, certain he would kiss her.

But then he didn’t.

So she tore herself out of his arms and stormed away - angry, frustrated, hurt, embarrassed, confused.

And now he’s standing in front of her, looking for answers, with the exact same emotions flashing through his eyes.

Jemma shakes her head, her eyebrows crinkling together. “Don’t you find me appealing?” she demands.

Fitz raises his eyebrows. “ _What?!_ ”

Jemma stomps her foot and huffs in frustration. “I’ve been trying to _seduce_ you, Fitz! This entire week!”

Fitz’s eyes widen. “You were trying to…” he repeats, as though trying to make sense of it. “Why?”

“Good question! Why would I bother?” Jemma throws up her hands. “Because you’re obviously only interested in me as a friend! Nothing I do turns you on! You don’t react at all!”

To Jemma’s surprise, Fitz starts laughing uncontrollably.

Jemma frowns. “This isn’t funny!” she protests, hurt.

“No, it is!” Fitz insists. “It’s funny because I’m _always_ turned on by you. If I don’t react, it’s because it’s _constant_ , Jemma. It’s my baseline.”

Jemma searches his face. He seems sincere enough. “So let me get this straight...you _always_ want me?” she asks uncertainly.

Fitz’s hands skim down her arms until they reach her hands. He pries her fingers away from her shoes, dropping them to the ground so that her hands are free to hold his. “You don’t have to seduce me, Jemma. I’m already yours.”

Jemma’s smile is bright enough to illuminate the night sky. And as their lips meet in a tender kiss, Jemma is willing to bet that a future with Fitz is worth far more than a measly 200 dollars.


	3. Marriage Before Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it is an Arranged Marriage, maybe an Accidental Marriage, maybe it is a Marriage of Convenience like a Citizenship Marriage or a Mail-Order Bride. Or it's just a stupid mistake. But whatever the case, our couple has been married for non-romantic reasons, and they may see it as a temporary thing, or a thing to get over with and ignore as much as possible.  
> Instead, they start to fall in love.  
> (from tvtropes.org)

Simmons knew she was in trouble by the way Fitz avoided looking and talking to her the whole way home. Which is really unfair, considering that getting married was _his_ idea in the first place. Sure, their interview today could have gone better, but they wouldn’t even had to go through the interview at the immigration office in the first place if Fitz hadn’t barged into her apartment all those months ago, in the middle of the night, just 72 hours before she was set to fly back to England, and insisted that they take advantage of his US citizenship (the only useful thing his dad had ever given him) by getting married so that they could continue working together.

Sure enough, as soon as the door closes behind them in their shared flat, Fitz turns to face her and all but shouts, “What. _The hell_.”

Simmons winces. “I really don’t think it was that bad -”

“Five times a week?! What were you thinking?”

Simmons tucks her hair behind her ear and looks over Fitz’s shoulder, unable to meet his eyes. “To be fair, all he said was sex. It could have included oral sex, digital penetration -”

Fitz grimaces and Simmons can tell he’s resisting the urge to cover his ears. “Okay, but _five times a week?!_ ”

Simmons throws her hands up in the air. “Well, I didn’t see you coming up with an answer!” And besides, five times a week is nothing compared to how much she’s been fantasizing about engaging in those activities with Fitz. Which is _completely_ normal, considering that she sees him every day and they’re literally married (even if it is platonically) and she hasn’t actually engaged in the aforementioned activities in ages, so it makes sense that on the basis of sheer exposure, he would be who she thinks about when she, ahem, takes care of her urges.

Fitz glares at her. “Well, I wasn’t exactly prepared for questions on our non-existent sex lives, was I? Because _you_ insisted, ‘Oh, Fitz, this will be a breeze, all we need to do is tell the truth, we’ve been best friends for eight years, how hard can it be?’” He’s adopted that grating falsetto that Simmons _hates_ and she crosses her arms over her chest defensively.

“Well, all the sample questions I found were about how we met and where the microwave is in the kitchen and the tile pattern of our bathroom floor,” Jemma protests. “It’s fine - we’ll just be more prepared for our next interview.”

Fitz collapses onto their sofa. “It’s not fine, Simmons!” he complains. “They’re going to do random home visits!”

Simmons raises an eyebrow and shrugs. “So? We really do live together - it’s not a big deal.”

Fitz gives her a meaningful look. “And how are we supposed to explain sleeping in different bedrooms?”

Simmons feels her heart rate pick up. “Oh,” she breathes.

Fitz buries his face in his hands. “Exactly,” he agrees flatly, his voice muffled.

Simmons forces a smile on her face. “Well,” she says, overcompensating with excessive cheerfulness. “I guess we’re sharing a bed from now on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have some ideas percolating for a continuation of this. We'll see?


	4. Fake-Out Make-Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fake-Out Make-Out: Two characters find themselves cornered during an emergency. The quickest solution? Kiss - passionately. (tvtropes.org)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Popsicle86.

Fitz stares steadfastly at the back of Jemma’s head as he follows her down the hall, decidedly _not_ staring at the low dip of the back of her evening gown or the multitude of freckles it exposes. Honestly, getting dressed for this party was supposed to be the easiest part of this mission, and Jemma completely failed. They’re supposed to be undercover. Incognito. Blend into the crowd. Instead, she wears that satiny emerald green dress that plunges both in the front _and_ back and how on earth is Fitz supposed to focus on the mission when she’s making him feel uncomfortably like he might agree with the reasoning of those pervy school headmasters who impose strict school dress codes to make sure girls don’t distract from boys’ learning with their shoulder blades or whatever? It’s bloody _rude_ is what it is.

So yeah, he has no desire to be a chauvinist, which means it’s his responsibility to not get distracted by a little bit of skin, or God, that little mole on the inner curve of her left breast that he’d never seen before. Which means spending an entire evening staring alternately at the floor or her (very shiny) hair. It makes conversing with the other party guests a bit awkward because she’s supposed to be his date, but no matter - he’s sure it’s glaringly obvious to everyone in the room that she’s way out of his league anyways.

Fitz has never been so grateful to get to the actual dangerous part of the mission before. When Jemma leads him into the mansion’s expansive study, he breathes a sigh of relief and busies himself with setting up the bugs in the lamps and within the dark mahogany bookshelves and in the landline phone (which, ugh, what self-respecting billionaire still has a landline phone?). Meanwhile, Jemma starts pulling out files and inventory logs, looking for proof of their mark’s business dealings with Ian Quinn. They work methodically and silently, which means that they both hear the voices approaching at the same time.

“The Hedgehog and Demogorgon are headed your way,” Daisy’s voice crackles in their ears, confirming their suspicions.

Jemma’s nose wrinkles. “Which one is the Hedgehog again?” she asks. “Doesn’t sound very threatening, does it?”

Fitz glares at her. “Not important!” he hisses. “We need to get out of here!”

Jemma shoves her pile of files back into the file cabinet while Fitz rushes to reassemble the phone. As soon as he’s done, Fitz grabs Jemma’s hand and pulls her towards the door.

“Wait!” Daisy shouts. “They’ll see you! Try the window!”

They head for the window behind the desk, but then the doorknob is turning, and as Fitz is wondering if they’d actually believe him if he said they were looking for the bathroom, Jemma is flattening herself against one of the bookshelves, and just as Fitz is about to tell her that’s not really an effective place to hide, she grabs him by the lapels of his jacket and pulls him flush against her, craning her neck up to press her lips to his.

Fitz freezes for a moment until Jemma grabs his hand and places it on her arse and he suddenly realizes what she’s trying to do. He pries her lips open with his, deepening the kiss, figuring that they’re going to pretend to be horny for each other, they should at least make it as convincing as possible.

Fitz snakes his free hand around Jemma’s neck and slowly trails his fingers down the skin covering the ridges of her spine, all the way down her back. He palms her thigh, hitching it up. Jemma, being as brilliant as she is, takes the hint and wraps her leg around his. He returns his hand to her back, unable to get enough of the warmth of her body or the smoothness of her bare skin.

Jemma slides her hands around his waist, underneath his jacket, and tugs his shirt out of his trousers. Fitz jolts at the feeling of her fingers against the skin of his back, unintentionally pressing her more firmly into the bookshelf. Jemma lets out an actual, audible moan and Fitz, unsure as to whether Jemma has suddenly become an excellent actress or if she might legitimately be turned on, thinks it might be the hottest thing he’s ever heard in his life.

He’s finding it a bit hard to breathe, and it could be the adrenaline that comes with knowing they’re about to get caught, but it’s far more likely that it’s because every time he’s about to pull away to take in oxygen, Jemma tugs him back in and sticks her tongue back in his mouth and takes his breath away all over again.

Fitz is vaguely aware of the study door swinging open and accusatory voices directed at them, but he’s really into this now - like, really super invested in what is supposed an act of deception but has quickly turned into the single best minute of his life - and can’t really bring himself to pull away from Jemma. Jemma, for her part, isn’t making it any easier, wrapping her arms around his neck and essentially holding him hostage against her lips.

It’s not until he feels a hand roughly grip his shoulder that Fitz is able to tear himself away from Jemma and turn around.

“Wha - I, uh - Can I help you?” Fitz asks lamely, his brain still fuzzy and dazed and full of Jemma.

The man scowls at him, and Fitz thinks that this one must be the Demogorgon because there’s this reptilian-like angle to his eyes and his mouth takes up practically half his face and Fitz is a bit worried that the guy might actually start feeding on him. “This is my office,” Demogorgon says pointedly. “And this isn’t really that kind of party. I suggest you take it home.”

Jemma giggles a little too loudly, the way she does when she’s tipsy (or pretending to be tipsy), and leans against Fitz, hugging his arm against her. “C’mon,” she whispers loudly, directed at him but loud enough for the other men to hear. “Let’s go.” She tugs on his arm and leads him out of the study and into the hallway, staggering a bit too exaggeratedly, but Fitz isn’t about to complain because the Hedgehog and Demogorgon have already closed the door behind them.

They stumble back into the expansive dining room, where party guests are still mingling and sipping on wine, and Fitz glances wistfully at the table of hor d'oeuvres as Jemma all but shoves him into the entryway and out the front door.

They walk for about a quarter mile down the impossibly long driveway before the rest of the team meets them, driving up in their black van with tinted windows (“Not inconspicuous at all,” Fitz grumbles sarcastically as Mack and Hunter grab his arms and pull him into the back).

The voices of the Hedgehog and the Demogorgon are already broadcasting from the surveillance equipment in the back of the van. “Nice job, Fitzsimmons,” Coulson calls back to them from the front passenger seat as May drives them out the front gate of the estate.

Daisy raises an eyebrow at Fitz, a shit-eating grin on her face. “Looks like you had a good time, Fitz.”

Fitz furrows his brow, confused, as Hunter and Mack snicker. “How do you mean?”

Jemma smiles at him sympathetically. “You have a little bit of lipstick over here,” she tells him, pointing to the corner of her mouth.

Fitz uses his thumb to delicately wipe at the corner of his mouth. “Did I get it?” he asks.

This only makes Daisy, Mack, and Hunter laugh even harder. Jemma presses her lips tightly together, though the fact that her shoulders are shaking and she’s sucking in her cheeks betrays that she apparently finds something hilarious, though she’s clearly trying not to join in on the others’ laughter.

Fitz glares at the lot of them. “What’s so funny?” he grumbles, unable to keep the annoyance and exasperation out of his voice.

Daisy grabs Jemma’s clutch out of her lap and digs out her compact, handing it to Fitz, still laughing uncontrollably.

Narrowing his eyes at them suspiciously, Fitz opens the compact and scowls when he sees his reflection. “Bloody hell, Simmons!” he complains when he sees that the entire lower half of his face is completely smeared with Jemma’s red lipstick.

Jemma takes her clutch back from Daisy. She digs through it and pulls out a crumpled cocktail napkin, handing it to Fitz so he could wipe off his face.

Daisy nudges Jemma’s ribs. “Anything you want to tell us, Simmons?” she teases.

Jemma rolls her eyes. “We did what we had to for the mission, Daisy,” she informs her primly.

(Once they return to the Playground, Jemma apologizes to Fitz for taking the mickey out of him by giving him the canapes she had managed to sneak out of the party in her clutch.)

Despite Jemma’s searing betrayal, Fitz doesn’t complain when, a month later, they receive another assignment to crash yet another black tie party. After all, if it turns out that he has to make out with his best friend again, it’s simply his duty as SHIELD agent. Sometimes, saving the world means taking one for the team.


	5. Fake Relationship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fake Relationship: Simply put, two people who aren't in a relationship pretend to be. (From tvtropes.org)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Popsicle86, who requested a fake dating chapter and is an all-around lovely human being.

Fitz scowls into his beer as yet another one of Jemma’s admirers interrupts their conversation. Jemma’s fingers play idly with the curls at the back of his head, and with that reminder of his fake boyfriend duties, he wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer to him.

Ever since she turned 18, Jemma has been on the receiving end of far too many advances by the much older male students at the Academy. Jemma thought she would be able to tolerate the extra attention through their last term, but after two months, she found that it was unbearable and approached Fitz for help.

“You know that thing where men can’t take no for an answer unless a woman is already spoken for?” Jemma had asked Fitz.

Fitz frowned. “That’s a thing?”

Jemma nodded sagely. “Absolutely. That’s why I need your help.”

Fitz shrugged. “Sure, Simmons. What’re their names? You want me to talk to them?”

Jemma blanched. “Talk to them? God, no - I can’t imagine any scenario where that would go well. I’m saying I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend.”

Fitz gave her _that look_ , the same one he gave her when she accidentally left the cat liver next to his lunch or rambled on a bit too long when she was trying to flirt with Milton last year. “How exactly is that plan any better than me having a simple conversation with them?” he asked, his voice doubtful and on the edge of reprimanding.

“Trust me, Fitz,” she told him confidently. “The only way to get them to stop asking me out is to already have a boyfriend. It’s chauvinistic as hell, but that’s the way the world works.”

She said they would only need to keep up the ruse until graduation in three months, but it’s already been a month, and so far their fake-dating scheme has been completely pointless. Despite the fact that they arrive at the Boiler Room every weekend hand in hand and are generally open with their physical affection, giving each other little pecks on the cheek and leaning into each other and playing with each other’s hair, Jemma is still constantly being approached by men she deems both too old and too boring.

“...so yeah, it’s supposed to be a pretty good movie, if you want to see it next weekend,” Rodriguez tells Jemma.

“Fascinating.” Jemma turns to Fitz. “What do you think, babe? Wanna see it next weekend?”

“Yeah, sure,” Fitz agrees readily. “Sounds like it could be fun.”

Jemma turns back to Rodriguez. “Thanks for the recommendation!” she says brightly.

Instead of crawling away with his tail between his legs (which to Fitz, would seem to be the most appropriate response), Rodriguez frowns and corrects her. “I meant with me. I wanted to know if you wanted to see it with me.”

Jemma feigns a look of confusion. “I mean, we were thinking it would be more of a date night, but you’re welcome to tag along if you have no one else to see it with,” she offers.

Rodriguez scowls and mutters, “Never mind,” before turning and finally - finally! - walking away.

Once Rodriguez is out of earshot, Fitz turns to Jemma and smirks. “Babe?” he repeats, amused.

Jemma steals his beer bottle from him and takes a swig. “Shut up. He wasn’t taking the hint, so I was trying to make it obvious.”

Fitz drops his arm from around Jemma’s shoulders and rubs the back of his neck. “Look, Simmons...I don’t think this is working.”

Jemma narrows her eyes at him. “Are you fake dumping me?” she demands.

Fitz holds up his hands in front of him. “No! Not at all! I’m saying that I don’t think we’re convincing enough as a couple.” He gestures between the two of them. “And I think part of it is that we’re a bit mismatched.”

“How on earth could we be mismatched?” Jemma protests. “We’re both the youngest here, we’re both clearly the smartest, we both -”

“I’m not attractive enough for you,” Fitz interrupts.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jemma scoffs.

“It’s true,” Fitz insists. “That’s why these other blokes keep approaching you - they don’t see me as competition. It’s obvious you could do so much better than me.”

Jemma reaches out to him as though she’s about to grab his arms, then clenches her hands into fists and pulls them back to wrap around her neck. “I’m trying really hard to resist the urge to shake you,” she informs him matter-of-factly. “I don’t understand why you have to be so down on yourself all the time. I mean, sure, you may not be the tallest or the most well-built -”

“Please. Stop. I’m blushing,” Fitz deadpans.

“But you’re the most interesting person here and you’re very symmetrical and you have a low body fat percentage and your eyes are very, very blue. Objectively speaking, you’re very handsome.”

Fitz raises his eyebrows. “I am?”

Jemma nods. “You are.”

Fitz blinks. “Uh, thanks. You too.”

Jemma tilts her head, giving him a teasing smile. “I’m handsome?”

Fitz flushes. “No! I mean, yes. I mean, you’re pretty.” He shakes his head and covers his eyes with his hand. “Don’t do this to me, Simmons. You already know you’re beautiful.”

Jemma wraps her fingers around Fitz’s wrist and gently pulls it down. “Thank you, Fitz.” Her expression has turned from teasing to soft and affectionate and Fitz finds that he can’t help but mirror it.

They stare at each other for a few moments, neither moving or saying a word, until it gets to be a bit too much for Fitz and he moves his gaze to glance over Jemma’s shoulder. He suppresses a grimace. “Uh, just so you know, Benson’s headed towards us.”

This is usually Jemma’s cue to school her expression into a mask of indifference before turning around, but instead, she takes a step closer to Fitz and wraps her hands around his neck.

“Uh...what are you doing?” Fitz asks nervously.

Jemma looks at him pointedly, as though it should be obvious. “I’m being convincing.” With that, she closes the gap between them and presses her lips to his.

It’s fairly short-lived, as kisses go, and Fitz barely has the chance to slide his hands around her waist, much less kiss her back, before Jemma’s pulling away, tugging lightly on his bottom lip as they part.

Fitz stares down at her, more than a little awestruck. “Brilliant,” he whispers.

“Is he still there?” Jemma asks.

Fitz blinks. “Who?”

Jemma rolls her eyes impatiently. “Benson!”

Fitz, with great effort, tears his eyes away from her lips and looks over her shoulder. “Uh, no - looks like he turned around - he’s walking in the opposite direction now.”

Jemma beams at him. “See? Problem solved. Now we’re more convincing.” She drops her hands from around his neck and grabs his hand. “I think I’ve had enough of the Boiler Room for tonight,” she says, tugging him behind her as she walks towards the door. “Let’s go back to your dorm and watch a movie.”

Though Fitz feels pretty enthusiastic at the prospect of changing into pyjamas and watching Jurassic Shark with his best friend, he also finds that Jemma’s particular brand of problem solving has him wishing, for the first time ever, that another one of her admirers would approach them, just so that they could have another opportunity to be convincing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this a while back (like, literally hours before giving birth), and as you can imagine, I have been too busy to post it since then. I'm posting it now instead of sleeping when the baby is sleeping (like I should be) because between recovering from surgery and having a human being semi-permanently affixed to my boob, I am stuck at home and desperate for human interaction. 
> 
> Please interact with me.
> 
> (I'm Lalallicat on Tumblr!)


	6. There's Only One Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A private investigators AU.

“I almost slept with Milton.”

“There she is!” Fitz jumps out of the car and slams the door behind him, running across the street without betraying any indication whatsoever that he heard Jemma’s ill-timed confession. Jemma groans and climbs out of the car, jogging half-heartedly after him.

Three hours. They had been on this stakeout for three hours, and every time she tried to work up the nerve to tell him, she held it in out of worry that the woman they were investigating would show up. So of course, that’s exactly what happened to moment she blurted it out.

After Fitz gets photographic evidence of the woman’s clandestine meeting with a representative from her company’s competitor and Jemma breaks into her car to find documents proving her participation in corporate espionage, they use the long car ride home to inform their client of what they found.

“All good?” Fitz asks, turning the stereo up after Jemma hangs up her phone.

“He’s stopping by our office tomorrow at eight,” she confirms. She wrinkles her nose when she registers what could generously be described as discordant clanging and squawking blaring from the speakers. “What are we listening to?” she asks, barely disguising the disgust in her voice.

“It’s the newest from Fuck Bottles.”

Jemma rolls her eyes. “Fitz.”

“What?” He already sounds defensive, somehow adding an extra syllable that jumps an octave higher.

Jemma shifts in her seat to face him. “You hate the Fuck Bottles,” she reminds him.

Fitz continues to focus intently on the road, his pointer finger tapping on the steering wheel. “It’s just Fuck Bottles, not _the_ Fuck Bottles. And I don’t hate them.”

“You said, and I quote, _I can’t believe this landed on the best of the year list, it’s just noise, and please make sure I never buy this rubbish again, Simmons_ ,” she recites, listing his previous comments in the same matter-of-fact way she might list the elements of the periodic table.

“Which is why I need constant supervision, Simmons,” Fitz teases. “Where were you when I needed you last week Thursday?”

Jemma winces. That would be when the almost-sleeping-with-Milton occurred. She steers the conversation back towards Fitz’s terrible taste in music. “Name one redeeming quality that justifies spending money on this.”

Fitz doesn’t even need to think. “The band’s name is _Fuck Bottles_.”

“Why are they so angry at bottles, by the way? What’d the bottles ever do to them?”

Just then, the car makes a sound that coincidentally sounds very similar to the music in the car and sputters to a stop.

Fitz glances in the rearview mirror and Jemma turns in her seat to look at the back of the car. Gray puffs of smoke spurt in the air behind them.

Fitz sighs and mutters, “ _Fuckbottles_.” 

\-----------

The first thing Fitz notices when he flicks on the light of their motel room, besides the full-size bed against the wall, is the multitude of stains on the carpet. He walks across the room, wrinkling his nose at the slurping noise his shoes make as he peels his feet off the sticky floor. “I’m not sleeping on the floor,” he announces. He turns and sits on the edge of the bed, watching Jemma take in the room.

Jemma sighs and drops her purse on a dilapidated armchair. “I wasn’t going to make you, Fitz.”

It was much too expensive to have the car towed 78 miles home, so they had the tow truck driver drop off their car at the nearest repair shop and walked to the cheap motel around the corner. There was only one room left, which Fitz didn’t mind because it was all they could afford anyways. Their most recent case involved a surprising amount of expenses that Fitz will definitely bill their client for.

“I don’t think this carpet has ever been washed,” Fitz argues unnecessarily.

“Again, Fitz, I’m perfectly fine with sharing the bed.” Jemma peels back the comforter, then pauses, considering. “Let’s just take this whole thing off,” she suggests. “It’s almost certainly been tainted with, like, seven different kinds of bodily fluids.”

Fitz looks at his fingers, counting in his head. “Do seven different kinds of bodily fluids even exist? I mean, are you differentiating between blood and uterine lining?”

Jemma wrinkles her nose, clearly disgusted. She tugs at the comforter. “Off,” she demands.

“Blood, semen, piss...erm...poop? I assume you’re including that.” Fitz lists, standing. Jemma pulls the comforter the rest of the way off the bed. “Um, what’s the female version of semen? Vagina juice?”

Jemma gapes at him. “Wow, you really did not pay attention in Biology, did you?”

Fitz suppresses a grin. “I didn’t have to - I had a lab partner who did all the work. Okay, um...what else is there? Placenta? What could I possibly be missing?”

Jemma rolls her eyes. “God, Fitz - not all bodily fluids come out of people’s nether regions. Snot, spit, vomit, sweat.” She grimaces at the bed. “And now I’m super looking forward to lying in this.” She climbs under the thin sheet, muttering, “Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think.”

Fitz climbs in next to her. “I never do.”

\-----

It’s not a complete and utter lie. It’s just that Fitz doesn’t spend much time thinking about anything that doesn’t start with S and end with -immons.

Jemma was so impatient to turn off the lights and go to bed that Fitz thought she would’ve fallen asleep right away. He, on the other hand, is not surprised that he can’t stop shifting uncomfortably, and if he’s being honest with himself, it has as much to do with Jemma’s proximity as it does with the fact that he’s lying on bedding that will probably give him some kind of fungal infection.

Because of course he’d be stuck sharing a bed with her mere hours after she informed him that she’s hooking up with someone else, and she’s clearly as uncomfortable as he is, based on how they’re both lying stiffly on their backs, trying not to touch each other.

“Fitz?” Jemma asks hesitantly.

He just grunts in acknowledgement, hoping that she’ll think that he was asleep instead of obsessing over how her foot brushed against his ankle just moments ago.

“I don’t know if you heard me earlier, but…” Jemma takes a deep breath. “I almost slept with Milton.”

Fitz is quiet for a long moment, considering the pros and cons of pretending he’s fallen asleep, but Jemma seems pretty determined to have this conversation, so he finally asks, with eyes still squeezed shut, “Why?”

“Why?” Jemma repeats, surprise evident in her voice. “Because he’s fit and symmetrical and has a low-”

“Simmons,” Fitz groans.

“I have _needs_ , Fitz.”

“I meant why are you-” Fitz practically shouts before pausing to lower his voice. “I meant, why are you telling me this?” he clarifies, opening his eyes.

Fitz feels the mattress dip as Jemma rolls onto her side to face him. “I don’t know. I just...I thought you should know. You usually know everything that goes on in my life.”

Fitz huffs. “Yeah, because your whole life is usually work and we’re...you know...work partners. Purely professional. So you don’t need to give me the gory details of your personal life.”

“Oh.” Jemma’s silent for a long moment, and Fitz thinks she’s gotten the message that he does not want to hear about how she’s horny for other men, especially while they’re sharing a bed, but then Jemma continues, “But thing with Milton is -”

“Can we please talk about literally anything else?” Fitz interrupts, his voice a harsh whisper.

Jemma rolls onto her back. “Sorry.”

Fitz focuses on breathing, closing his eyes so that he can’t see the way the headlights of passing cars shine through the blinds, casting shadows on the wall across the bed.

Jemma rolls onto her side again. “Do you think it’s a command? Like, fuck _the_ bottles, like you’re supposed to put -”

“Jesus, Simmons!” Fitz groans, clapping his hands against his ears.

“- _inside_ the opening of the bottles, or is it supposed to be like, descriptive, like a specific _type_ of bottle?”

“Fine! You want to talk about Milton? Let’s talk about Milton!” Fitz snaps. He rolls onto his side to face Jemma. “I hope you’re aware you’re sleeping with the competition.”

Jemma rolls her eyes. “Milton is not the competition.”

“We solve cases, he solves cases - we can’t-”

“He’s a police officer! He solves _crimes_ \- it’s a completely -”

“- wouldn’t have any clients if he -”

“- we take pictures of people having affairs-”

“- gave me a parking ticket _during a stakeout_ -”

“- very helpful - he very conveniently left the evidence room unlocked.”

“Yeah, sounds like a real stand-up guy,” Fitz scoffs. “No wonder you slept with him.”

“ _Almost_ slept with him,” Jemma corrects him.

“It’s not any of my business who you do or don’t or almost sleep with,” Fitz mutters. “Do what you want.”

“Don’t you want to know why I didn’t go through with it?” Jemma demands.

“I assume it’s because you finally realized that he has a cabbage head.”

Jemma’s silent for a long moment, and Fitz is on the edge of panic, worrying that he’s crossed a line, when she suddenly announces, “I’m cold.”

Fitz blinks, his brain struggling to follow her non-sequitur. “What?”

“I’m cold,” Jemma repeats. “It’s 16 degrees and this sheet is thin.”

Fitz opens his mouth, but before he can get a word out, Jemma rushes to say, “Celsius.” Because of course she knows what he was going to say.

Jemma’s still looking at him expectantly, clearly still wanting some kind of response, so Fitz asks, “Do you want me to get the comforter?”

Jemma wrinkles her nose. “The comforter? I don’t - didn’t we already establish that it’s disgusting?”

Fitz is at a complete loss. “So what do you want?” he asks, more curious than frustrated.

Jemma bites her lip. “I mean, you’re always warm. Can you just...you know...hold me?”

Fitz clears his throat, stalling. He did not expect their conversation to veer in that direction. But who is he kidding? Jemma’s asking him to _cuddle_ ; there’s no way he’s going to say no. He shifts onto his back and opens his arms. “Come here,” he says, keeping his voice gruff, as though this isn’t the highlight of his pathetic life.

Jemma smiles and scooches in closer to him, resting her head on his chest and stretching her arm over his torso. Fitz wraps his arms around her and pulls her in closer, resting his chin on the top of her head.

Fitz closes his eyes when he feels her breathing slow. He’s just about to drift off to sleep when he hears Jemma ask, her words slow and hazy with sleep, “You didn’t really mean it, did you? When you said we were purely professional?”

Fitz sighs. “No. I suppose I didn’t.”

“Good,” Jemma yawns, burrowing closer to him. “Because you’re my best friend in the world.”

Fitz can’t help smiling. So what if Milton got to almost sleep with Jemma? Fitz gets to be her best friend in the world. He can live with that.


	7. Red String of Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trope: The Red String of Fate is some perceivable clue that identifies your destined True Love. 
> 
> (Soulmate AU where for 24 hours on their 18th birthday, they see what their soulmate sees, but only when they’re asleep.)

Jemma doesn’t think about her soulmate at all until Elena finds hers. Elena knew because she saw Mack getting his shotgun-axe tattoo on her 18th birthday and she recognized it as soon as she saw it peeking out from under the sleeve of his t-shirt while standing behind him in line for coffee.

It was quite serendipitous, really. Not everyone gets such a clear detail about their soulmate. Most people are lucky if they even figure out their soulmate’s general location.

Jemma hadn’t been curious at all before then. It didn’t seem all that important - she had more important things to think about. But then she realizes that if Elena hadn’t been asleep when Mack was getting that tattoo, she might not have known about it.

So Jemma figures, yeah. Her 18th birthday is in a month, and if it’s her only chance to figure out who her soulmate is, maybe she should be prepare for it. Just because she doesn’t care about it now doesn’t mean that she’ll never care. She might want to figure out who it is one day.

Jemma was only 16 when she started uni, so she was never included in those conversations freshman year where everyone was comparing soul dreams. She decides her first step should be to gather information by interviewing her friends about their experiences. Elena says that it’s just as hazy as a regular dream, disorienting and blurry at the edges - and that even though soul dreams are limited to seeing what your soulmate sees, she could still kind of get a sense of what people were talking about, though she couldn’t hear any voices. Bobbi says that her birthday fell on a Saturday, so her soulmate spent literally the whole day playing video games, which didn’t really help her figure out who it is at all. Karen says that all she saw was white, but even so, she knew what was happening around her and was able to infer that her soulmate is blind and works in a big city as some sort of lawyer.

Jemma doesn’t panic until she starts to make contingency plans and realizes how much could go wrong. What if she wakes up before she can figure out anything meaningful about her soulmate and can’t go back to sleep and misses her chance to learn about him (or her - she doesn’t want to make any assumptions)? What if she wakes up and forgets everything she sees? What if her soulmate is in a coma and she gets no information at all?

Fitz points out that it’s stupid to worry about it because it’s not like she ever cared about her soulmate before. She can still have a perfectly happy life without a soulmate. But this is from someone who didn’t even try to figure out who his soulmate is. He insisted that he didn’t want to spend his entire birthday sleeping and that he’d rather spend it doing something fun with his best friend. She’d warned him that he might regret it, but it’s been a couple months, and he still says he made the right call. He’s more surprised that Jemma would purposefully sleep through her classes just to figure out who her soulmate is, and when Jemma points out that everyone sleeps through their 18th birthday, he spends the week leading up to her birthday joking that she’s going to sleep through school just to find out that her soulmate is school or homework or science or something equally ridiculous.

In the end, Jemma stays up til midnight, sleeps in as late as she can, then takes Z-Quil so she can go back to sleep.

For all that Jemma excels at preparation, she was not prepared to have no soul dream at all. It’s not like Karen, whose soulmate is blind, nor is it like what she suspects would happen if her soulmate were in a coma either. She just ends up having a regular ordinary dream that she’s living a regular ordinary day in her regular ordinary life. Well, maybe it was a rather unlucky day, but it was ordinary all the same.

Jemma dreams that she wakes up late and barely has time to throw on jeans and a sweater before scrambling to her first class, much less do her hair or makeup. After her first class, she goes to the campus coffee shop to get tea, just like she always does, only this time she spills it on herself. She doesn’t have time to go back to her dorm to change, so she just goes to her next class with this huge damp spot on her sweater. And then she picks up a sandwich at the cafeteria and scarfs it down before going to her third class, where she discovers there’s a pop quiz, which, okay, isn’t that bad because it’s not even difficult, but still, it’s not like pop quizzes are exactly fun. And the worst part is that Fitz is missing the whole day, so she doesn’t even have anyone to talk to, and it makes the whole day feel lonely and boring. She ends up going to his dorm to see if he’s there, which he’s not, but she figures while she’s there, she might as well borrow one of his sweaters so she doesn’t have to walk all the way across campus to her dorm to change out of her tea-stained sweater. Then she goes to the library to study, except she apparently forgot her highlighters and color-coded index cards, so studying isn’t as fun as it usually is.

And then she wakes up.

Jemma sits up in bed, feeling disappointed that she has no soulmate and angry that she spent her entire birthday asleep and still heavy with drowsiness from sleeping all day. She briefly considers calling her mom to figure out if she’s been lying to her about when her birthday is, but ends up calling Fitz instead without really thinking.

“Simmons?” He answers his phone in a low whisper, sounding slightly confused. “Everything alright?”

“No.” Jemma is still too sluggish to find the words to explain - but it’s Fitz. He doesn’t need explanations.

“I’ll be right over.”

Fitz arrives with snacks and ice cream and a birthday present and the promise that pizza is already on its way. “Happy birthday,” he tells her as soon as she opens the door, and just like that, everything is better. Still not great, but definitely better.

“I should’ve just done what you did,” Jemma tells Fitz halfway through Dinoshark Vs. Space Dinoshark. “Just celebrated my birthday instead of sleeping through it. I can’t believe I wasted it trying to find someone who doesn’t exist.” She sighs heavily and leans her head on his shoulder. “I know it’s dumb to be disappointed.”

Fitz hesitantly wraps his arm around her shoulders, which Jemma takes advantage of to snuggle in closer to him. “Why would it be dumb?” he asks.

“Because up until a month ago, I didn’t even care about my soulmate. It was so theoretical and hypothetical and I didn’t feel like I needed anyone else, you know? But then Elena found Mack, and I realized -”

“That your life would be better with your soulmate?” he suggests.

Jemma lifts her head and turns to look at him. “No, that’s not it at all. Because I love my life right now. I have school and I have science and I have you,” she says, bumping her shoulder into his affectionately. “But then I realized that soulmates aren’t just hypothetical - they’re _real_. You have a soulmate who’s real and they’re going to find you one day and whisk you away and then you’ll have someone else who you’ll want to spend all your time with. My life isn’t always going to be this perfect. So I figured I should, you know. Plan for the future. I mean, not that anyone could ever replace you, and it’s not that I even _need_ a romantic relationship to have a life that’s fulfilling, it’s just…” Jemma shrugs helplessly. “It’s probably messed up that I was hoping to use my soulmate to get over losing you as my best friend, isn’t it? Except I don’t even have one, so serves me right, I guess.”

Fitz tugs her a little closer to him and Jemma returns her head to his shoulder. “I was worrying about it too,” he confesses, his voice soft and low. “Not about someone whisking you away, but - that I would find my soulmate and that they would somehow be more important to me than you. I don’t want that.” He swallows heavily. “It’s stupid that the universe just decides for us, who we love,” he says fiercely. And everyone just buys into it. That’s why I wanted to spend my birthday with you instead of sleeping. It just seemed impossible, to me.” His voice goes quiet and sad. “That anyone could ever be more important to me than you.”

“Well,” Jemma says, taking his hand in hers. “Looks like you’re stuck with me until your soulmate manages to track you down.”

Fitz pulls her hand into his lap and covers it with his other hand. “Maybe I’m like you. Maybe I don’t have a soulmate either.”

Jemma hums sleepily. “It’s possible, I suppose.” She knows what he’s building up to with that suggestion, the possibility of what their future could look like, but she doesn’t want to hope. Because chances are, he does have a soulmate out there and just because he can’t imagine liking or loving or whatevering anyone more than her, it doesn’t mean it’s not possible. But she’s much too exhausted to consider any of that right now. It’s a problem for another day. She lets out a loud yawn, her mouth stretched wide.

Fitz smiles down at her. “How can you be tired? You slept all day.”

“It’s one of those things, you know, where you sleep so much that you’re still drowsy when you wake up. Like when we’re jet-lagged. Plus, I took Z-Quil this morning, so.”

“Go to sleep, Simmons. I won’t be offended.”

Her eyes are already closed by the time he finishes his sentence.

But she doesn’t fall all the way asleep, apparently, because she’s still half-aware of the movie playing, of Space Dinoshark attacking Dinoshark with its laser beam eyes. And then she stands up, looks down at her bed, and sees...herself. She’s folded over, bent at the waist so that she’s lying sideways on her arm even as her legs hang off the edge of her bed. She lifts her legs onto the bed and pulls her body up towards the pillows before covering herself with her blankets. Her hands - but not her hands because they’re much too large to be her hands - smooth her hair back from her face. And then she leans down and gives herself a soft kiss on her hairline.

And that’s when she knows. She’d started to put the pieces together once she saw herself sleeping, might have even suspected it as early as a year ago, the tiny seed of hope buried under layers and layers of wariness and practicality and cynicism and misgivings, so far down that she didn’t even know it was there. But now the seed is starting to sprout.

And now she knows.

\-----

Jemma practically runs to Fitz’s dorm as soon as she wakes up in the morning and pounds frantically on his door.

“What?!” Fitz snaps, swinging his door open forcefully. His expression softens slightly when he sees that it’s her, but he’s still scowling. “What are you doing here, Simmons? We don’t have class for like, three more hours. Just because you spent all of yesterday sleeping -”

“I was wrong!” Jemma blurts excitedly, budging past Fitz into his room. “I thought you weren’t there, but you were! I’m the one who wasn’t there.”

Fitz shakes his head as he closes his bedroom door. “What?”

Jemma looks down at his floor and sees his blue sweater crumpled at the foot of his bed. “Yesterday you woke up late. You wore that sweater over there and you spilled tea on it. And then Thompson gave a pop quiz.” She looks up at him. “Is that true?”

Fitz doesn’t seem shocked - just confused. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

“I didn’t realize,” Jemma says, breathless. “We spend all day side by side. We’re always together.”

Fitz plants his hands behind his hips and looks down, squeezing his eyes shut in concentration. “I’m still half-asleep, Jemma. I have no idea what this conversation is about,” he confesses, opening his eyes.

Jemma didn’t really plan this. She was so excited to see Fitz that she hadn’t thought at all about how she would explain it to him. “I thought I was dreaming about my day, but I wasn’t. I was dreaming about yours.”

She can see the slight shifts in his facial features that let her know that it’s starting to sink in. He gives her that wide-eyed look, the one that he saves just for her, the one that’s filled with fondness and awe and hope, the one that shines from his face in those soft moments when they feel like the only two people in the world. “Are you saying -”

“Yes.”

Fitz strides purposefully towards her, and Jemma’s already reaching for him when he stops short, one step away from her, his fists clenching at his side.

“What’s wrong?” Jemma asks.

Fitz frowns. “It’s just...last night. We were talking about how the universe dictates who we’re supposed to love, and people just accept it.”

Jemma furrows her brow. “So?”

Fitz rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed. “So that’s what you’re doing. You’re just accepting it because you’re supposed to. All of a sudden, just because you have this dream-”

“Why are you trying to make this complicated?” Jemma interrupts, irritation flaring in her chest against her will. She knows what’s he’s implying - that her wanting to see her soul dream means that she’s not choosing Fitz the same way he chose her. It’s ridiculous and he should know better. “This is supposed to be _good_. We could be happy, Fitz. We could be so happy.”

Annoyance flashes across Fitz’s features before he schools his face into a neutral expression. “You knew how I felt about you, Jemma. You’ve always known. So why do you only want to be with me now?”

“I already told you, Fitz!” Jemma shouts, exasperated.

There’s a loud thump against the wall and a muffled “Shut up!” from the other side.

Jemma lowers her voice to a harsh whisper. “I already told you. Before, it was hypothetical. Now, it’s real.”

Fitz rolls his eyes. “Oh, _now_ it’s real,” Fitz says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because the universe says so.”

“Shut up about the bloody universe!” Jemma snaps. “I don’t care what the universe wants! This is what I want. And if you need proof that I love you, think about the fact that you’re being an absolute idiot and I still want to be with you!”

Fitz stares at her silently, his expression unreadable.

Jemma takes a deep breath and steps forward so that she’s standing right in front of him. “This is what I want,” she repeats, her voice steady and calm. “What do you want?”

Fitz surges forward and kisses her, his lips warm and sure against hers. Jemma brings her hands up to his face, stroking his jawline with her thumb. Fitz pulls away from her mouth to press kisses into her neck.

“It’s not nice to call your soulmate an idiot,” Fitz says between kisses. “You think anyone else has a soulmate as mean as you?”

“Only if they’re as infuriating as you,” Jemma teases, her voice full of affection.

Fitz playfully bites her shoulder. “I’m not being an idiot now, though.”

Jemma guides his face back to hers to kiss his mouth again. “No, you’re being perfectly brilliant now.” Jemma places her hands on Fitz’s shoulders and pulls away. “We still have three hours before class,” she says breathlessly. “We can sleep a bit longer and snog later.”

“Or we can snog for the entire three hours,” Fitz suggests, sliding his hands onto her hips and guiding her towards his bed.

Jemma pushes Fitz onto his bed and climbs over him. “Yeah,” she agrees. “Who needs sleep?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is actually a movie called Dinosaur Versus Space Dinosaur. It is a legitimate thing that exists.


	8. Love Before First Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love Before First Sight: When a character is in love with someone they haven't met yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My mom was watching an episode of Dr. Phil in which an elderly woman enlisted his help to convince her adult daughter that her online beau (to whom she has sent her life savings) is a real person that exists and that she is not being catfished. (Spoiler alert: She was definitely being catfished.) And it reminded me of a prompt I saw floating around a loooonnnng time ago back when I was just a creepy lurker. Anyways, you can thank Dr. Phil for this.

Fitz is definitely getting catfished.

Sure, pretending to be a famous biochemist might not be the most typical tactic a catfisher might use, but it works if they’re targeting the antisocial sad sack nerd demographic, of which Fitz is almost definitely a member. So it makes sense.

And the most logical thing to do would be to ignore the message that pops up when he logs into his Plenty of Fish account, but Fitz is just drunk enough to be affronted that they’re trying to extort money from him and to think that out-catfishing them is a great way to prove his mental superiority.

So he hits reply.

\-----

Fitz was a child prodigy who earned his first Ph.D. by the age of 16. He is a literal rocket scientist. He knows better than to establish emotional intimacy with someone who is obviously not real.

But the thing is, even though he knows he could never be romantically involved with Not-Jemma for a variety of reasons, he thinks that maybe once they’ve established that Fitz is not parting with savings account and that he knows that Not-Jemma is...well...not Jemma, he and Not-Jemma could maybe be friends. Because she (he? they?) can argue with him for days about the most trivial details in his favorite movies and books and they’re exceedingly clever and they know exactly what to say to help him feel better when he’s had a bad day. And okay, he knows that’s all part of the emotional manipulation element of the scheme, and he really is trying very hard to not be won over, but yeah - he’s totally won over.

Maybe Fitz will give them money, when they get to the stage of their non-relationship where they’re all like, _Yeah, I would love to meet face-to-face, too bad I’m stuck in another country, want to spot me some cash?_ He can just tell them that he knows they’re not in an emergency situation, and he’d rather be honest about how he’s essentially just paying them to keep being his friend. Like a friendship hooker. That’s a thing, right?

Fitz is definitely dumber than he thought.

\-----

As it turns out, Fitz is definitely, truly, spectacularly dumber than he thought because not-Jemma wants to meet face-to-face, and he just _agrees_ , even though he’s probably going to get murdered or something. And that’s not even the dumb part.

No, the dumb part comes when he gets to the coffee shop and the woman sitting in a corner table stands and waves at him with this bright smile on his face and Fitz can’t even move because she is actually, literally Jemma Simmons. Which he feels compelled to share out loud once she gets tired of waiting for him to move and just walks over to greet him instead.

“Of course,” Real-Jemma says, unable to hide her amusement. “Who else would I be?”


	9. Literally Loving Thy Neighbor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz is in love with the girl next door. Too bad their parents are suing each other.

Fitz knows it’s ridiculous. They have cell phones. They have computers. They go to school together. They could very easily call or text or e-mail or Skype or Snapchat or any number of things that would be easier than this.

Except their parents are suing each other over landscaping, of all things, and they’re forbidden from communicating with each other, which means that their parents check their cell phones and their search history every day and kicked up a fuss at school until the school counsellors changed Fitz and Jemma’s schedules so that they don’t share any classes. Which, if their parents didn’t want Fitz and Jemma to communicate, they should have thought about how their bedroom windows literally face each other.

So here he is, sitting by the window, decoding the pulses of light coming from her room. It’s a pain in the ass, but she’s worth it. He’s not going to give up his best friend just because some stupid tree roots crossed over their property line.

Once he decodes the message asking if he’s alone, he double-checks to make sure that his parents are still yelling at _Jeopardy!_ in the living room before he replies.

_C. L. E. A. R._

He reaches for his walkie-talkie, one of a set he made out of broken appliances. (Technically, they weren’t broken when he started making them, but they’re certainly broken now.).

Jemma’s voice crackles and snaps out of his radio. “Did you talk to Hunter?”

He brings his radio to his lips. “Yeah. He said he’d cover for me.”

“And your parents?”

“Yeah, I asked them. They said I could go.”

He can practically hear the frown on Jemma’s face. “Just like that? I had to get Daisy to get Phil to call my parents and vouch for me,” she grumbles. “They’re way too suspicious.”

“Well, you are sneaking around behind their backs, so it’s not like it’s not justified,” Fitz points out.

“Well, you’re sneaking around too, and your parents still trust you.”

“Yeah, you should try being a guy some time. It’s great. No one worries you’re going to accidentally get knocked up.” Fitz winces, instantly regretting telling the girl he’s been in love with since 7th grade that she should get a penis. He is truly inane.

On the other hand, he’s like a 1 on the Kinsey scale, so it would certainly solve a lot of his problems.

Jemma snorts. “That sounds doable.”

“If you can dream it, you can be it.”

There’s a long pause on her end, which could mean any number of things, but he always ends up assuming that it’s because she got caught by her parents and that they’re doubly-screwed. “Be honest,” he says. “How much mental energy are you using to determine whether it would be easier to change shitty regressive societal ideas about women or to ditch the uterus?”

Jemma laughs, which - Fitz is so unspeakably lucky to have a best friend who appreciates his shitty sense of humor. “No, I was just looking at my phone. Daisy’s here,” she says.

Fitz sighs, relieved. “See you soon.”

“Yeah. See you soon.”

*

Fitz and Jemma have gone to the midnight showing on opening night of every Chronicles of Prydain movie since the first one came out when they were 13. Clearly, they’re not going to let litigation get in the way of tradition.

Jemma makes an appearance at Antoine Triplet’s house party (for alibi purposes) before leaving through the back door, cutting through the Gutierrez property and crossing the street to get to Fitz’s car. Jemma throws her arms around Fitz as soon as she slides into the passenger seat. “I haven’t seen you in two weeks,” she says into his shirt.

Fitz squeezes her back just as tightly. “You see me every day. I keep my windows open.”

Jemma pulls back and tugs her seatbelt across her torso. “You know what I mean.”

Fitz shifts into drive and pulls away from the curb. “Yeah. I do.”

They share a large bag of snack-sized candy that Fitz bought the day after Halloween and a thermos of coffee during the hour-long drive to the next town over, where they can be sure that no one will recognize them and report back to their parents. They spend the wait in line catching up on everything they’ve missed the past few weeks, and then spend the movie sitting in the back row with Fitz’s arm hooked around Jemma’s shoulders and Jemma snuggled into his side.

Fitz has missed this. He’s missed talking to the person who understands him so completely and their stupid inside jokes and their easy affection. He can’t wait until they leave for uni.

But then Jemma’s distracted and quiet the whole ride home, and it could be because it’s 3:00 in the morning, but Fitz knows Jemma. Something’s bothering her.

“Everything alright?” Fitz asks.

“Hmm?” Jemma’s still staring out the window. “Oh. Yeah.”

Fitz taps his fingers nervously against the steering wheel. “You know you can tell me, right? Whatever it is.”

“Yeah.” Jemma’s so quiet, it seems like she’s talking to herself more than him. “I know.” She takes a deep breath and straightens her body, apparently steeling herself for something. “It’s just...it’s a lot of effort we go through, just to see each other.”

Fitz’s stomach lurches. “Do you...not want to?”

“No! I do!” Jemma rushes to assure him. “It’s just...all this lying and sneaking -”

“Does it bother you?” Fitz interrupts. “Because we don’t have to. I don’t want you to-”

“No - it’s just I’m trying to be honest - just -”

“Because I know rules are important to you and you don’t like to lie and-”

“If you could just shut up for one second -”

“I mean, we’re graduating in May, we could just -”

“I’m trying to tell you that I’m in love with you!” Jemma shouts, frustrated.

Fitz very nearly steers them into a telephone pole. He probably should not be driving during this conversation.

Once he’s pulled over into an empty parking lot, Fitz turns to Jemma, searching her face for any hint of uncertainty. She mostly just seems aggravated.

“Why now?” Fitz asks.

Jemma flushes. “Because if you reject me, then it will be really easy to avoid you. I just close my curtains.”

Fitz shakes his head. “No, I mean - you should’ve told me as soon as you got in the car. We could’ve been snogging this whole time.”

A wide grin spreads across Jemma’s face. She lurches forward, grabbing Fitz’s shirt and pulling him across the console to kiss him, desperate and sloppy. Fitz cradles her face with his hands, slowing the kiss to something soft and tender before pulling back. He tucks a strand of Jemma’s hair behind her ear. Jemma beams at him. “It’s not like we can’t snog _now_. We have time.”

“Yeah,” Fitz agrees, leaning back in. “We have time.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loosely based on when this angry dad came storming into my husband's classroom because he didn't want his son sitting next to this girl in class because of this exact situation.


	10. Fate Drives Us Together

The first time Leo Fitz meets Jemma Simmons, she’s _pissed_.

“What. The fuck.” Fitz has never heard those words said so evenly or calmly before.

Fitz is familiar with anger that burns like fire. He’s seen Hunter and Bobbi yell at each other, their eyes blazing, all uncontrollable rage.

He’s not familiar with anger like Jemma’s. Jemma’s anger is cold and sharp, like an icicle. An icicle that she’d probably use to stab him in his sleep.

As usual, it’s at least 70% Hunter’s fault. After all, Hunter is the one who convinced Fitz to sign up for the campus-wide game of Gotcha!, saying Fitz studies too hard and could use some fun - and the $100 Target gift card that goes to the winner. And Hunter is the one who, when Fitz received the slip of paper with his target’s name on it, said, “Oh yeah, I know her. She’s in Bob’s Thursday lab. We can stake out the building when they get out.”

But then again, Fitz is the one who actually sprays her with the water gun without checking to see if she’s really Jenna Simons, so there’s probably plenty of blame to go around.

*

The second time Leo Fitz meets Jemma Simmons, she’s suspicious.

“Are you stalking me?” Jemma demands, shouting over the loud music.

“Am I stalking you?” Fitz repeats in disbelief. “You’re at my house.”

“No, I’m not.” Jemma responds so quickly, with so much authority, that Fitz almost believes her. She fills up her red Solo cup with beer from the keg and walks away. Fitz follows her through the crowd of sweaty and drunk party-goers.

“No, seriously. I live here.”

Jemma levels him with a challenging glare. “No, because my friend Daisy lives here.”

Fitz has to laugh. “It’s a big house. You think she’s the only one who lives here?”

Jemma narrows her eyes at him. “I’ll challenge you to it.”

“What?”

“I challenge you to beer pong. If you win, then you live here. If I win, then Daisy lives here. I hope you’re prepared to lose, because I’m great at beer pong. I’ve already won four games tonight.”

Well. That explains things.

Fitz nods decisively. “Okay. No more beer for you.”

Jemma frowns. “What?”

Fitz grabs her hand and pulls her back to the kitchen so that he can get a bottle of water out of the fridge. “Drink this.”

Jemma’s surprisingly compliant, considering that she was just arguing with him about where he lives. As she chugs, Fitz rummages through the cupboards until he finds Daisy’s stash of Poptarts. “Here.”

Jemma frowns at the silver package. “You’re not even going to toast them first?”

Fitz rolls his eyes. “Such a princess,” he grumbles, tearing open the package and dropping them into the toaster.

When they’re done toasting, Fitz wraps a paper towel around them and hands them to Jemma. Jemma immediately hands them back to him.

“What now?” Fitz asks impatiently.

“They’re too hot,” Jemma complains.

Fitz runs a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ.” He grabs her hand again and tugs her down the hallway. “C’mon. Mack and Daisy are playing video games in the basement.” He did not sign up to babysit Daisy’s friends for her.

When they get downstairs, Daisy is standing on their beat-up forest green couch, pointing down at Mack and Hunter, shouting, “Boom! Does it hurt? Does it hurt?!”

Jemma reaches over to squeeze Fitz’s arm with the hand he’s not holding. “What’s Daisy doing at your house?”

Fitz ignores her in favor of flopping onto the couch next to Daisy. He leans down to pick up the fourth controller. “I found one of your strays upstairs.”

Daisy smirks as she watches Jemma climb onto the couch next to Fitz and nestle into his side. “Looks like she’s imprinted.”

Fitz rolls his eyes. “Excuse me for trying to be responsible.”

Jemma plunges her hand into Fitz’s pants pocket, and he wiggles away from her. “What’re you doing?” Fitz asks incredulously.

“I want my Poptarts,” Jemma whines. “Gimme my Poptarts.”

Fitz points to the side table on the other side of her. “It’s right there, next to the lamp.”

“Oh.” Then she promptly drops her head onto Fitz’s shoulder and starts snoring.

Fitz and Daisy rock-paper-scissors to see whose bed they’d put her in. (“She’s your friend,” Fitz complains. “Why does she get my bed?” “Because you’re a gentleman,” Daisy gloats as she pulls off Jemma’s shoes and covers her with Fitz’s blankets.)

Jemma wanders into the kitchen the next morning, messy-haired and red-faced.

“How do you feel?” Daisy asks sympathetically from where she’s perched on the counter next to the stove, where Fitz is flipping pancakes.

“Like I got hit by a medium-sized SUV,” Jemma groans, sliding onto a barstool on the other side of the breakfast bar. “Do you have any aspirin?”

Daisy hops down from the counter. “I might have some in my room. Be right back.”

As soon as Daisy leaves the kitchen, Jemma blurts, “Look. About last night...”

Fitz slides a plate of pancakes in front of her. “What about it?”

Jemma runs her hand through her hair. “Look, I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.”

Fitz’s eyebrows draw together in confusion. “About what?”

Jemma huffs. “Oh my God, you’re going to actually make me say it,” she mutters, mostly to herself. She straightens in her chair and looks Fitz bravely in the eyes. “Okay. Last night was a lot of fun. Really. You’re great. And sweet. And obviously, really well-formed and symmetrical.”

Fitz can’t help the grin spreading across his face. “Obviously,” he repeats.

Jemma looks down at her plate and starts attacking her pancakes. “And even though I said last night that I wanted to have your babies, the truth is, I’m not looking for anything right now. I’m moving to another city for grad school, and it’s a really bad time to start dating someone. I don’t really do long-distance.”

Fitz is really trying very hard to hold in his laughter, but he can’t help it. It bursts out of him, loud and delighted. “I’m sorry - I just - do you think we hooked up?”

Jemma freezes mid-bite. “Did we not?”

Fitz shakes his head. “No. And you definitely did not say that you wanted to have my babies. Though I am definitely filing that information away for later.”

Jemma looks askance, as though mentally rewinding through her memories of the night before. “Oh. Maybe I only thought it.”

Despite her initial embarrassment, Jemma stays long after breakfast is over, settling into the couch next to Daisy and playing Mario Kart with them. (Fitz sits safely on the floor to avoid a repeat of last night. The last thing he needs is Jemma snuggling into his side. It’s bad for his sanity.)

And by the time Jemma leaves, Fitz finds that even though he wasn’t really looking to date anyone either, he really wouldn’t mind reconsidering for her.

*

The third time Leo Fitz meets Jemma Simmons, they’re both wearing stick-on name tags and eating vegetable crudités off of those clear plastic plates that are trying to pass themselves off as fancy crystal.

“Oh my God, you stalked me all the way to Boston,” Jemma says when she first sees him. Because of course they would be at the same mixer for new graduate students at their school.

Though, if Jemma really thought he was stalking her, it must be something she’s into because Fitz doesn’t really know how else to explain the way they end up making out furiously on her couch later that night.

“So I know you said you don’t do long distance,” Fitz says into her neck, his hand creeping up her leg and under her skirt. “So I feel like now is the time to tell you that I live all the way at the other end of the Green Line. Hope that’s not a deal breaker.”

Jemma slides her hand from his hair to his cheek, guiding his mouth back to hers. “I think we can figure something out.”

Fitz smiles against her mouth. “Yeah. We’ll figure it out.”


End file.
